Recovering the Satellites
by PartyHardy
Summary: A collection of one-shots, drabbles and short fics. 4: AU - Oliver and Felicity meet each other in school and become best friends. But in high school, everything changes.
1. Thaw

They stumble through the front door together, a mess of limbs and snow-covered clothes.

Outside snow is tumbling through the wind like earth-bound stars; it's impossible seeing past twenty feet.

Oliver fumbles in the darkness, eventually finds a light switch on the wall. Darkness wakes to light around them, revealing a simple wooden cabin, a large open living room, bedroom down on right, kitchen to the left. A thin layer of dust covers everything; it looks forgotten about for years.

He limps as Felicity makes her way into the kitchen to see if there's running water.

"How long ago was it since you stayed here?" she asks.

Oliver considers. "Four, five years."

There's water. Cold as ice, but water. As Oliver walks around the cabin like a wolf prowling an area, Felicity puts a water-filled casserole on the stove. Finds matches in a dusty cabinet, uses them to light the gas on the stove.

"At least we have water and electricity," she says, a loud thought.

She finds a first aid kit in the small bathroom. At least she _thinks_ it's a first aid kit, recognizing things like cotton and needle and bottles with transparent liquid, but it's hard to tell when the labels are in a language she doesn't understand, with letters from an alphabet she doesn't know. She brings it out to Oliver, who's gotten a fire going in the small fireplace.

"We can use this for your leg," she says, showing him the box. He looks at her instead. Stands on one leg, doesn't hesitate before putting his hand on her neck, leaning closer to inspect the gash across her cheek.

"I'm fine, Oliver. _Really_. I'm not the one bleeding through my pants. Come on, let me…"

He hesitates then nods, removing his thick parkas as Felicity checks the water on the stove. Lowers the heat, uses a wooden bowl to collect some, bringing it over to where Oliver's sat down on the edge of the couch, fire crackling behind them.

They don't talk. Felicity cleans the deep wound with some cotton and water, Oliver hands her what she assumes is a form of hydrogen peroxide, uses that too, brings out needle and thread after, sowing Oliver up, unflinchingly. She's come a long way from fear of needles.

He watches her put sutures in his leg. It stings, but other things are more painful...

"They hurt you," he growls, unable to keep his eyes off the gash on her cheek, glaring red.

"I've had worse."

"I'm sorry," he tells her.

And it's not _what_ he says but the way he says it that makes her stop, looking up at him. He's apologizing for _years_, not just this. His eyes are doleful, wounded, but she won't have any of that.

"Hey," she says peremptorily. "My life. My choice. Remember?"

One strong look and a nod, then she finishes sowing him up.

* * *

A while later, Oliver half walks, half limps out of the bedroom. "I used the transmitter to get in touch with Diggle. He managed to get a chopper, but the weather's too unsteady to lift in. It's expected to clear up by morning, so he'll come get us then."

Felicity nods. "I found some cans in the cabinet. I'm not entirely sure what of, but looks like…"

"Soup, probably."

"I'll heat some on the stove."

His turn to nod. "I'm going to see what old clothes I might have left here."

She turns his way. "Wouldn't happen to have any snuggly women-size PJs, would you?"

He smiles, shakes his head and limps into the bedroom.

* * *

Later he comes back out, in black sweatpants and a knitted sweater. He hands a version of the same to Felicity, gets a bowl of soup in exchange.

"I'll probably drown in this," she comments before heading into the small bathroom. But it's better than the damp clothes she has on, so she quickly rinses her face and lets her hair down, because, damnit, she's been awake thirty hours counting and just doesn't _care_.

There's a spark in Oliver's tired eyes when she comes back out. The sweater covers half her thighs, the arms folded so many times her wrists look tiny. The socks are the finishing touch.

"Not a word," she warns, grabbing his clothes and putting them out on the floor in front of the fire.

"Here." He hands her a bowl of soup and even though she's hungry, a frown passes over her face like a midnight shadow. Still, she sits down, the other side of the couch and finishes it. Looks into the fire.

"For a safe house in the Russian mountains, it's not so bad."

He looks down at her, glint in eyes. "Could be worse."

"I mean. Those mobster men could have stabbed you ten inches north and there wouldn't have been much for me to do." She winces. "And I can't believe I'm talking about this."

"Not much else to do, is there."

"Suppose not."

They sit in silence, wrapped in a blanket each, watching the fire. Outside the wind howls, spots of white snow through the darkness like broken apart stars.

"You can take the bed," he says eventually. "I won't sleep."

Felicity considers arguing, a moment, but she's too tired and a wave of nausea from fatigue and being struck in the head are wearing her out. Before she goes, she says, "Know what I wish I had right now?"

His eyes light a little. "A warm shower?"

She yawns. "That'd be nice, too. But hot cocoa."

A smile warms his face, watching her tired, dreamy eyes, feeling part of a private joke he's not fully in on. Still, he says, "That'd be nice."

She yawns again, lips splitting into a soft smile. "I'll make you one when we get home."

He's already looking forward to it.

* * *

Halfway through the night Felicity needs to use the bathroom. She taps on quiet feet out into the living room, dark save for firelight.

Oliver's slumped against the arm rest. His eyes are closed; his breath even.

"Liar," Felicity whispers, entering and leaving the bathroom in minutes. When she gets out, a voice through the darkness.

"Wasn't sleeping."

Her whole body flinches. "Oliver—whoa. You… don't _do_ that."

"I wasn't sleeping," he repeats, sitting up, tired groggy eyes.

"Well. You should. We've both been awake for at least thirty-six hours and…" She stands there, considers a moment. "Come on."

Holds her hand out, in the darkness, fire casting it in an amber glow. He remains for a second, then gets up and, in the warm light of the fire, takes her hand.

Follows her into the bedroom, waits until she's gotten in and lies down next to her. Feels her legs move under the large blanket, wonders if he'll get any sleep this way, at all. Doubts it.

But it's so worth it.

Her hands brush by his arm, turning beneath the blanket.

"Your hands are cold," he whispers.

"Sorry."

She's balling them into fists when his seek them out. She freezes, then relaxes, like thaw, lets him hold her hands between his, a human blanket of warmth.

"Go to sleep," he tells her.

"You first."

And, smiling eyes in darkness, they do.


	2. Still Falling

Sara's in town for a couple of days. She doesn't explain why, just a comment about League business near Coast City so she shot off to Starling to get a glance at her family.

Right now she's visiting Oliver down in the new lair. Not _that_ kind of visit; they're beyond that now. Sara pulled two beer bottles out of her bag, handed one to Oliver and that was it. They understand each other's silence.

It's nice having someone around who understands the predicament of being told you don't have to be who you were, who understands that letting go of the past is like trying to cut off a limb. Your past always stays with you. You just get better at not thinking about it. All you can do is try to move on.

Occasionally words roll out of them, their personal perpetual blizzard. Oliver looks down at his bottle, sloshes the liquid about and thinks of waves on open water.

"I feel like… that island blew us to pieces. And I've been trying to put those pieces back together ever since." His lifts his eyes, looking at nothing in particular. "Some days I feel more whole than others. Others… I just want to disappear. And I understand now that the feeling will never go away."

"Mmm," Sara hums, drinking from her bottle. "As true as that is, it's nothing new, Ollie. We've both been broken for a long time. So how come you feel particularly broken tonight?"

He looks at her, eyes that are stern and doleful at the same time. It doesn't faze her. There will always be parts of him Sara has little patience for; she too has been through awful experiences, but has less use for self-pity than him.

An answer comes walking down the stone steps into the lair. In a blue coat, leather bag, a side-swept braid that moves with her steps.

"Hi Sara," Felicity says, a small wave with her hand. Sara smiles, bobs her beer bottle in return. They already met the day before, they're past greetings now.

Instead of watching Felicity head over to the computers, Sara watches Oliver watch Felicity. The way his eyes follow her, something warm and sad that's so afraid to hope.

She leans over, nudges Oliver with the bottle. He looks at her, eyes like he's woken from a good dream.

"Hey. Ollie. I know you want to make sure the city's in a good place… but you'll never be able to do that without making sure you are, too."

That hurts for reasons she's not fully aware of. His eyes at her are stubborn, protected, but she waits until she sees a small hopeful crack.

"You deserve something good," she says meaningfully. "And you're not as broken as you've gotten used to thinking you are. Not any longer."

With the last, Sara looks over at Felicity. Back to Oliver. Gives a small nod, hops off the chair. Slams Oliver once on his arm before she tells Felicity good night, leaving the lair.

He watches Felicity at the computers. She's in a gorgeous blue dress, not ballroom style but still elegant. He finishes the beer and she misses the way he looks at her, like she's where all his tomorrows start.

But she's with Ray Palmer and nothing is _right_.

"Date night?" he asks, hoping he sounds neutral. He's trying to be. He really is.

"Was supposed to be," Felicity replies. "But Ray got called in for a last-minute meeting, so… figured I might as well do some good tonight."

He wonders if what she's doing at the computers can't wait until the morning. Felicity's never behind on anything, she's the most fastidious of them all. But tonight she was supposed to be at a dinner somewhere, probably candle-lit with nice expensive wine that tasted sweet like a promise. Now she's here instead, a concrete lair without a view and computers in front of her, her virtual kingdom. She must be hungry, he thinks.

"Hey," he says. "You want to grab a bite to eat?"

She looks at him briefly. They haven't had dinner together, just the two of them, since the one disastrous date that cast all their following meetings in its lingering shadow. Things are different between them now. She's a little more guarded around him, and what little she lets out is not his to accept any longer.

She glances back at the computer, closes a window. "Sure. Why not."

He looks around for his coat, finds it on the table and grabs hers on automatic, too. He holds it up for her as she threads her arms into it, controls his hands so they don't linger at the neck of the coat as he pulls it up. But then she turns and his hand sweeps against her neck, hair soft as silk, and he sees her gulp as she turns. He retracts a step, careful to not be too close, but catches the way her eyelids flutter, how she takes a deep breath before looking up at him. She's guarded again.

"You ready?"

He nods. "Good to go."

More often lately, when he's done being the Arrow for the day and night falls around him, all he wants to do is disappear.

But it's moments like these that remind him why he's still here. She makes him want to be around. People have colored him in all his life; she bleaches that kaleidoscope and covers him in light.

He can't _be_ with her, but he can be her friend, and for now, that's enough.


	3. Dance

Team Arrow walk down into the lair after the latest mission; Oliver, Felicity, Diggle and Roy, in that order.

The mission was straight-forward: attend and infiltrate Reynold's smokescreen charity gala, get close enough to his office to break in, let Felicity work her magic extracting the needed information from the disconnected server, get out again. Diggle served as designated driver, Roy their inside man serving drinks on the ballroom floor, Oliver and Felicity the pretty couple who elegantly but clandestinely danced their way to the office.

Roy's in a hurry to get changed, out of the borrowed clothes and into his familiar red hoody. (Felicity's managed to wash it twice. Once when he was practicing with Oliver and Diggle, another time when he'd come in drenched from the winter rain.) He says he has somewhere he needs to be – after his close call tonight with a bullet that just missed his abdomen – they know where he's going to. To whom.

A violent pang of guilt and regret enters Oliver, wishing he could see Thea like Roy can. But Roy keeps him updated; Oliver does his best to give it time. He's got Thea back in his life again, even if she is on the periphery, and there's no way he intends to screw it up.

"Will you guys be alright without me?" Diggle asks, phone in hand. He's got a six month old baby at home, of course that's where he'd rather be.

"We're good," Oliver tells him, voice soft and thankful. "Go."

"Say hi to Lyla from me," Felicity asks him, before Diggle tells her he will, jogs up the stairs and leaves.

Oliver pulls the bowtie out from around his neck, watching Felicity sit down at the computers. She's in a red dress, all layers and small stones that sparkle. She's absolutely radiant where she sits, starting the decoding program for the information they extracted tonight. The information _she_ extracted. All he did was stand guard at the door, knock out a security detail. Dirty work.

Oliver throws his suit jacket on one of the tables, rolls his sleeves up. He's not done for the night. Not yet.

There's still something left for him to do.

"I've got the decryption algorithm up and running," Felicity tells him. "It's some heavy encryption—we're talking 70 terabytes of encrypted plaintext laced around a level of AES that supposedly doesn't exist yet—so even with my custom-made and so _not_ legal decryption algorithm, it'll still take between eight to twelve hours to decode."

"Good," Oliver nods, proud he actually understood half of that. "You have anything left to do?"

"Yeah, two things…" Felicity leans down, plucks the strap from her ankle and lifts her black heels, placing them next to her bag on the table. She drops several inches and Oliver holds back a smile; she's so small, yet one of the strongest women he knows.

"Better," she says victoriously. "That's one. Now I just need to pee—that's two. Then I'm driving home."

He waits until she's in the bathroom, before going over to one of her computers that's not running the decryption program. Opens another program, sets his plan about. Then waits until Felicity comes back out of the bathroom, naked feet padding quietly across the cold floor.

He holds his hand out for her. "A last dance before the mission is over?"

"Oliver. The mission _is_ over."

"The day isn't." Oliver looks at his wrist watch. "We still have… seven minutes."

Felicity stops where she is, but she's not contemplating. Not really. Oliver stands still, right where he is, waits until she takes his hand. When he pulls her to him, soft music starts filling up the vicinity.

She rolls her eyes. "You so timed that."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He smiles. So does she.

Their hands twine warmly. The one Oliver's supposed to have at her side slides comfortably around her back, bringing her closer. The soft, earthy music tones suffuse the air like sonorous heat. Around them empty spaces are filled with softly dancing shapes, pendulous shadow figures.

At last Felicity's eyes met Oliver's. They're deep and dark, but so _warm_.

"I meant what I said on the dance floor," he tells her in a low voice. "You're beautiful."

Her eyes shimmer a little, before she says quietly, "Thank you."

Oliver smiles the way he does only for her, softening lips and glinting eyes. He indicates to his shoulder, a small quick nod, and Felicity steps even closer, putting the side of her face against the nook where his neck meets his shoulder.

She closes her eyes; they continue swaying softly to the slow rhythm of their beating hearts.

Midnight comes and goes but neither of them notice.

Moments like these, Oliver's convinced there's nothing else he needs. He feels sown together. Fallacy or not, he feels that this life, with all the predicaments and strung-together pieces of a larger whole; he feels he can get through all of it. Like he can handle whatever comes his way.

It's going to be difficult, but also easy… as difficult and easy as falling in love.


	4. Everlong

**Summary:** AU - Oliver and Felicity meet each other in school and become best friends. But in high school, everything changes.

* * *

Oliver Queen met his best friend when he was nine years old.

The opposite end of a schoolyard sandbox, with the sun in his eyes and a golden girl appearing in front of him.

"I'm looking for my marble," she said, shielding her eyes with a hand. "I was playing on the other side of the fence, and thought maybe it rolled over here…"

Oliver looked at the fence in the middle of the schoolyard. Just beneath the low edge of the wooden planks was a glint, one he'd stuck his feet into many times, but now there was nothing there but ground and air.

"I haven't seen any marbles," he told her, getting up off his knees. He brushed sand off his pants. "But I can help you look, if you'd like."

They searched around the fence, back to the sandbox, over to the swings and even the tree in the corner of the schoolyard, but no matter where they looked the marble was nowhere to be found.

After twenty minutes the bell rang out, shrill and clear. The pony-tailed girl shielded her eyes from the sun, looking anxiously at the other children running to the entrance. When he saw her unhappy expression, Oliver didn't think twice, didn't hesitate to pull out the pouch tied to the hook of his jeans. He dipped his hand into it and quickly produced a green marble.

"I know that it's not the one you're looking for, but… here." He handed her the marble. "You can have mine."

She hesitated. "You sure? You don't even know my name."

"I'm sure." He nodded, whisking blond bangs about. "And _my_ name is Oliver."

"I'm Felicity." She hesitated a moment, then quickly leaned forward and kissed Oliver on the cheek. "Thank you, Oliver."

He smiled like young summer. He liked the way she said his name, like a happy memory.

He heard Tommy shout at him in the background—it was time to go back in—but as Felicity ran across the schoolyard in her little red dress Oliver couldn't take his eyes off her.

He watched her run, thinking he just got his first kiss from the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

* * *

Over time, they became the kind of friends you live a lifetime never forgetting.

Oliver's oldest friend would always be Tommy, who, some times, tagged along with them. But more often than not Oliver and Felicity spent time together, just the two of them, making up games from their imagination. They came up with adventures, invisible dangers and enemies to defeat, turned playgrounds into landscapes and fortresses. Felicity fought next to Oliver against their imagined enemy and together they defeated mighty fantastic foes. Armed with fantasy and heart; two children against the world.

But they came from different worlds: Oliver lived in a mansion accessible only by a long driveway; Felicity lived two blocks away from school in a dilapidated apartment complex. Felicity's entire reason for living there was so she could attend that school, while Oliver attended because his parents forced him to. Oliver had a trust fund set up before he was born; Felicity kept her grades up in hope of a scholarship.

The differences didn't end there. When she wasn't in school or with Oliver, Felicity preferred putting herself up to small tasks, putting together old computers, or fixing ones she found for free in junk piles at backyard sales. Oliver didn't have that patience. When he wasn't with Felicity, he hung out with Tommy, test driving expensive radio controlled cars; in their teens they watched cheerleading practice or helped Robert fix plane engines.

But against all odds they still found ways to be together. The reason was simple: they felt better with each other than without. In the absence of parents with busy jobs, Oliver felt like someone _cared_ for him, and Felicity liked having someone around who reminded her she wasn't forgotten.

They grew through the years together, never far apart.

* * *

Everything changed in high school.

"Oliver, we need to talk."

In the bustling hallway, between rows of red and blue lockers, Felicity reached out and touched Oliver's arm. He paused, taking one look at her and signaled for Tommy to wait. They were juniors; she a freshman.

"We're on our way to the pep rally," Oliver told her. "Can't it wait?"

"No, it's…"

Tommy jogged over to them after winking at two passing cheerleaders. "Hey, Felicity. Is that a new smile you're wearing? Gorgeous, as always. I'm real sorry, but we have a team of cheerleaders who won't just applaud themselves. We'll miss—"

Felicity cut him off. "Oliver, I'm moving to Las Vegas."

Oliver blinked slowly. A disbelieving smile stretched his lips apart. "What…?"

"It's my mom," Felicity stammered. "The guy she's been seeing wants us to move to Las Vegas. He wants us to have a fresh start somewhere else, and…"

Oliver dismissed Tommy with a quick nod. "You go ahead. I'll catch up later."

Tommy slapped Oliver on the shoulder but his eyes were on Felicity. "I'm real sorry to hear about it, Felicity. We'll talk later."

She nodded, looking at the floor as Tommy jogged away. She felt absolutely_ sick_. Her arms dug into her sides; the only thing keeping her up. Oliver wrapped his arm around her shoulders and lead them away from the tumult of the hallway, filled with teenagers making their way to the sports hall.

He found them an empty spot in the stairs. Felicity leaned against the wall, still holding her arms tight around her body.

"When did she tell you?" Oliver asked, sitting on the third step.

"This morning," Felicity answered in a hollow voice Oliver had never heard from her before. "She claims it's the best thing for us as a family. But that's just it—she doesn't _understand_. Oliver, my dad walked out on us. I barely know what it's like having a family. And now this guy comes in and wants to change everything."

Oliver's hands balled into fists between his knees. "Have you told your mom you don't want to move? It's spring. Can't she wait until summer?"

"I know," she said sadly, "I _know_. I told her the same thing. But when she gets an idea, you can't convince her of anything else. She stops listening." Felicity let both hands drop. "Oliver, she doesn't get it. I have my life _here_. Everything I _like_, everything I don't want to leave… is right here."

Oliver felt sick to his stomach. He desperately wished there was something he could do, anything to make the situation better, change things, have her stay.

"Maybe I can talk to my mom," he offered. "Maybe she can talk to yours, convince her not to go…"

"Oliver, our moms have never _talked_."

"I just..." He sighed. "I'm trying to come up with something so you don't have to leave."

"She's made her mind up. We're going."

A thick silence wrapped around them. Oliver glanced out the window at the back of the stairs, where spring sunshine shone in thick rays on the ferns outside. It bothered him how everything out there went on as before, when inside the school, he felt his whole world changing.

"When do you move?" he asked carefully. Felicity left the wall and sat down next to him on the steps.

"Next Saturday."

Oliver felt her answer like a punch to the gut.

They sat there together, legs bent, elbows on knees. The whole school was gathered for the pep rally, but as far as either of them were concerned, it might as well have taken place in another world. Everything but_ them _felt far and distant.

Felicity slid, lying forward in her own lap and Oliver mimicked her, nudging his arm against hers. His eyes at her were soft, hers doleful.

"There's phone calls," he suggested. "Emails…"

"Oliver, it took you a week to figure out your Nokia 3310."

"Not everyone's a tech whiz."

He tried smiling, but seeing her face the charade fell. A warm spot in his chest grew heavy, a sinking heart skewed by reality.

"It will be alright, Felicity. I don't know how, but... somehow. It'll be alright." He put his arm around her shoulders.

She turned to him, cheek on arm. "We'll find a way."

* * *

When Oliver told his mother about the situation after supper, she was less forthcoming than he'd hoped. She seemed understanding of Felicity's mother, which wasn't what Oliver hoped for, at all.

"People move, Oliver," Moira said reasonably, leaving the dining room. "It happens all the time."

He hurried, following her through the long hallway. "_We've_ never moved."

"And I hope we never have to, but… some times, life changes. Life takes you elsewhere and you have to follow where it leads. Sounds to me like that's what Felicity's mother is doing."

Moira stopped near the stairs when she noticed Oliver slow after. She looked at her son standing there, appearing so _small_ against the tall walls, the sight clawing at something deep inside her. She never wanted to see her children in pain, ever. She would do anything to protect them.

"Oh, honey… you really like this girl, don't you?" She lead Oliver over to the stairs.

"She's my best friend," Oliver said sadly, sitting down next to his mother on the steps.

Moira paused. "I thought Tommy was your best friend."

"No, he's my _oldest _friend. Felicity… she's something else."

"She certainly sounds like it..." Moira rubbed her hand across her son's back. "Oliver, dear. It will be alright. It's going to hurt now, for a little while. But with time, it's going to hurt less and less. Life goes on. You'll see."

Oliver pressed his lips together and tried pushing the tight feeling in his chest deeper down inside, to a place he could no longer feel it. But it was like pressing down reality; sooner or later, it always catches up with you.

He didn't doubt his mother believed her own words, but _he _had a harder time believing them. That life went on... it didn't seem right.

It was difficult understanding how when the best part of his life was ending.

* * *

Oliver was seventeen when he watched his best friend leave for another city, thinking he might never see her again.

He arrived outside her apartment building the same day she left. Ran to the back of the building, threw rocks at her window; she told her mother she was getting some fresh air and met him outside.

He was in jeans and a pale blue t-shirt, looking like a summer's son; she in a pale pink dress that moved along her body like wind.

"Hey you," she said bittersweetly.

"Hey yourself," he returned. Then, quietly, "Hey. Let's head to the back."

The swings behind the building were hardly ever used; the rickety iron squeaked when they sat down on them. The mild spring weather wafted of early blossom. It was only the two of them around, two teenagers learning about the limits of forever, trying to say goodbye to each other.

"I got you something." Oliver brought out an old but familiar pouch.

Felicity's face warmed, lips curling up. "Is that…"

Oliver's smile started low but gradually turned into a grin as he produced a green marble from the pouch. Carefully, he placed it in Felicity's hand. She looked at him and smiled like a dream.

"Thought it was fitting," he said, hoping it didn't come out sheepish. "Considering it's how we met, and…"

"This isn't goodbye," Felicity blurted. Her eyes at him were very white. "I mean, I know it _is_. I know we're both here right now because I'm moving to another city and we might never see each other again… but this isn't _final._ We're both still young and…" Her words faded. "Sorry. Talking too much always catches up with me."

"_Hey_."

He waited until she looked at him, then held onto her gaze like a flock of stars.

"Don't ever say you're sorry for the way you talk. Okay? It's what makes you _you_. And who you are, is... you're amazing." His eyes shivered and his words trembled out of him. "I'm so glad I met you, Felicity. I don't know what my life would be like without you. It sure as hell wouldn't be the same—and I wouldn't be, either."

Felicity closed her hand tightly around the green marble, letting his words sink into her like deep waves.

One hand on the swing, she leaned over and gently put her lips on Oliver's.

It was a soft kiss; asking, searching, finding. Their lips parted and two pair of eyes, different shades of blue, searched each other.

Neither could stop smiling.

"That's my first kiss," she admitted shyly, cheeks the color of strawberries.

Oliver proudly smiled. "I'm happy to be your first kiss, Felicity Smoak."

That first day in the sandbox, they never found Felicity's green marble. But they found something much greater than that.

A friendship that would last a lifetime.

* * *

**Note: **This was originally written as a one-shot, but after writing it I ended up exploring what would happen if the story continued. What if Oliver ended up on the Gambit anyway, returned five years later and met Felicity again?

A couple other parts are written, so please let me know if it's anything you'd be interested in. Thanks for reading!


	5. Immunity

**Summary:** Another trope put to use: Marriage of convenience based on the premise of spousal immunity.

Stretching the boundaries of believability, but what the heck. Mostly written for fun.

* * *

The police came for her before she could set foot in her car.

It happened fast and without warning. Felicity spotted the police car across the street from her house, but thought it had something to do with the recent burglary in her neighborhood's corner shop—the same shop that sold the European brand of mint chip Felicity _loved_—so it never crossed her mind they might be looking for _her_ until two policemen approached her.

They asked if she was Miss Smoak, which she naturally was, and asked her to please come with them. Felicity's mind ran a hundred-thoughts-a-minute, but she tried remaining calm as the officers told her they had some things to question her on and they really hoped she was the kind of girl they didn't have to cuff. She frowned, muttering how sexism was never an attractive feature, but a moment later they closed the door on her and Felicity found herself audibly gulping in the back seat.

Now, Felicity's sat in the interrogation room for more than an hour; all she's been offered is a flat coke. Finally a middle-aged police _something_ comes in, the kind of age that's not yet lost all hope in the system and still feels he has something left to prove.

"I'm Special Agent Gillan," he announces, closing the door. "Do you know why you're here?"

Felicity shakes her head. "Nope. But finding out would be kinda nice."

Gillan slams down a folder on the table; Felicity jumps.

"Miss Smoak, this is about your father."

Ten seconds pass.

"I barely know my father," she says tersely. "Doesn't it say that in your files?" She nods to the neatly stacked files on the table.

Gillan's eyes are grave. "You know what these files contain, Miss Smoak? Reports and evidence. Evidence of you committing pretty much every computer crime we have a law for in America. I don't think I need to explain the ramifications if we decided to charge you with these… interesting cybercrimes." Gillan open and closes the file they have on her. "Which is why I'll be frank with you, Miss Smoak. We have enough on you to make you a permanent resident of Iron Heights."

Felicity sits very still.

Special Agent Gillan proceeds telling her why she's really here, which she discovers isn't really about cybercrimes, at all.

They want something much more specific. Personal. After Gillan's laid the situation out for her, Felicity finally looks up from the table. She's been staring at it the whole time through.

"I want Captain Lance," she says firmly. "He's the only one I'll talk to."

The door opens in a long swift movement. Gillan pulls away from the table, staring indignantly at the person entering the room like a thunderstorm.

"You're not talking to anyone," Oliver says peremptorily.

"Mr. Queen, this is a private questioning." Gillan tries reaching the billionaire playboy, who holds his assistant's jacket open for her. "This is none of your business."

"You have my assistant arrested. That makes it my business."

Oliver and Felicity move for the exit, but Gillan calls out after them, "Wait."

"Are you going to arrest me?" Felicity asks, poise confident, but Oliver notices her wavering undertone.

Gillan's eyes falters. Still, he tells them, "I wouldn't leave town for the next couple of days, Miss Smoak. And you, Mr. Queen, are going to be called in for questioning."

Oliver hands him a business card. "If you wish to talk to Miss Smoak, contact my lawyer."

Without saying anything else, Oliver puts his hand on the small of Felicity's back and leads her out of the building.

* * *

He doesn't say anything until they're outside the lair. That's when he tells her Diggle's waiting downstairs, so they go down, each step feeling a lot like impending doom, willingly walking down into a mire.

Diggle closes the tablet he browsed on. "Hey, Felicity. How you holding up?"

"Okay. I think. Kind of scarred. I mean, mental scars, not actual scars like yours or Oliver's, those gritty marks that make you look like someone's run you over with a lawn mower."

Diggle smiles, only just. "Pretty smart thinking, using your phone to send us an alert."

"They let me keep my bag in the police car." She attempts a shrug, but she's so tense she barely moves. "Which kind of makes it their own fault, really."

"Felicity." Oliver stops on the other side of the exam table. "Do you mind explaining what that was all about?"

"I..."

_One, two, three._

"Basically, they brought me in for questioning because of my super suspicious cyber activity. Which doesn't make any_ sense, _because half my time at the computers is spent covering my tracks, making sure no one can trace me. And, I'm_ good_. I cover my tracks. But somehow they still claim to have enough on me to put me away in Iron Heights."

"Evidence can be fabricated," Diggle offers. "You think someone's trying to frame you?"

"At first I thought maybe it had something to do with Oliver." She looks at him. "People know I've worked for you, so I figured maybe someone with a bad grudge thought they could get to you by going after me."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Diggle comments.

"It wouldn't, but..."

A pressure forms in Felicity's chest, a slow building knot. She bites her lower lip a moment too long and they notice.

"Felicity…" Oliver says, encouragement and insistence in a single word.

She lowers her eyelids. "They threatened to charge me with a lifetime sentence's worth of cybercrime if I didn't help them locate someone."

"Who?"

Felicity opens her eyes. "My father."

A moment passes that makes the room feel big as an ocean, and the water between them separates the shores of what they still don't know about each other. Felicity sits down in her chair, turning toward the computers without actually doing anything.

After two long minutes, Oliver looks at Diggle, who shrugs, barely visible, not a _I don't care_ shrug but a _you asked so you're continuing this_ kind of shrug.

"Felicity," Oliver says. "Do you mind explaining this…?"

She pushes herself back into the chair, lips pressed together. There's an air about her that's tangible, a sadness; a grey cloud surrounding her the rest can't see.

"I can't."

Oliver frowns. "What do you mean, you 'can't'?" He stares at Diggle before pushing off the table, needing to _move_. "You were nearly arrested today. You're going to _have _to talk about this."

Felicity's eyebrows hike up and down. "Yeah, cause you talk about everything always."

She sees him coming and braces herself unflinchingly.

"Felicity, I just got you out of a questioning. The police aren't just going to _let this go_. If they start digging too deep, we might risk them finding out things we don't want them finding out." He looks around the lair. "And I'm not sure—"

"This isn't about you, Oliver! This is about _me_."

Felicity pushes herself up out of the chair so fast Oliver has to move out of the way. He looks at Diggle, who's still and calm, eyes following Felicity. She paces around the exam table, hands pushed firmly into her elbows.

"This is about how you don't get to choose the family you're born in," she says. "And how the family you're born into isn't always… squeaky clean."

Oliver's got a look that's a mix of concern and _believe me, I know_ and Felicity meets it with _humor me_.

"My dad, he… he did some pretty bad stuff. And now, they want me to help bringing him back out."

Diggle blows out air between pressed lips. "And if you don't help the men in black suits locate him, they're throwing you in jail."

Felicity slowly nods.

Oliver's hands ball into fists. "How do we fight this?"

"You can't," she says. "Not as the Arrow."

"They can't charge you without evidence," Diggle points out.

She blinks, following his train of thoughts. "Even if I _could _hack into their records—which I totally can, by the way—and remove whatever evidence they claim to have against me, that doesn't mean this will just go away. If they bring this to court, they're still going to get you and Oliver to testify, and…"

Her sentence trails off into nothing as hopelessness settles into her. Oliver's not quite there yet. Diggle's got that line between his brows he gets when he's genuinely concerned, which he only ever gets for, like, four people, and it takes a moment before he looks up at Oliver.

Who's looking at Felicity.

"Most people only know Diggle as my bodyguard," he says. "He wouldn't be able to offer them much in terms of information—not when it comes to you. If worse comes to worst, he's got friends who can get him out of town for some time."

Felicity looks up at Oliver. But it's Diggle who says, "That still leaves you, Oliver. How do you plan on keeping them from subpoenaing you?"

Oliver's eyes flicker like a new star. "Spouses don't have to testify against each other, do they?"

Diggle looks at him, a hard look with arms crossed over his chest. He knows exactly where he's going. "No. They don't."

"Felicity." Oliver looks at her. "How do you look in white?"


End file.
